


Hungry Like the Wolf

by DarkmoonBoar



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Eygon being Eygon, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Power bottom Eygon, Rough Sex, Scratching, Snark, Zingiest of zingers, light sadomasochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: Eygon of Carim stops by Firelink Shrine to see how the Ashen One has been treating Irina.He ends up having a rendezvous to have sex with the Deserter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry the song reference title was /per-fect/.
> 
> Writing the dialogue was super fun.

Leaning against the base of Saint Aldrich of the Deep's throne with his arms folded, black mineral boots heavy in the ash, Eygon of Carim scanned the room, letting his eyes adjust after entering from the bright outside. Today, out of his burning curiosity, he had come to check up on Irina to see what she was doing under the Ashen One's “care,” as well as see what this place had to offer which, honestly, wasn't much. He was fairly certain the Shrine could stand in for the definition of “decrepit;” much of the surrounding area was in ruins or fallen into the earth, and the sheer amount of ash in the pit of the shrine was staggering.

Though he had scouted out the area around, he had yet to see much of the interior, and the Ashen One hadn't exactly told him what the “sanctuary” here was like at all. As such, he had set his hefty hammer against the throne, as it was unnecessary weight, and there was no need for it inside.

Stepping forward, his gargoyle-like helmet swept across his neck as he decided which nook and cranny he should look at first, and immediately took notice of the moping figure in black leather armor and a chainmail armor on the other side of the room, slightly bent over with his hands on his legs. That man's head was turning downwards, and didn't seem to notice Eygon, as imposing as he looked in his armor, staring directly at him. This stranger's face was well-hidden by the shadow, his position, and his head gear, so it was difficult to make out his facial features.

After staring at him for what ended up being a few minutes, deciding what he'd stay to figure out this pathetic, crestfallen person when his face lifted gradually, until the man was staring right back at him with an eyebrow arched. His face had angular features, especially when it came to his cheekbones and nose. Though the light was dim, the knight of Carim could tell the man had a five o clock shadow at the very least. All in all, Eygon found him that damnable word that he dare not admit to himself: _alluring_.

A cold sweat trickled down Eygon's spine, and the terrifying jolt being discovered sent down his spine finally gave him the push he needed to begin padding forth.

The man craned his head up at him as the gargoyle knight loomed over him, a black, foreboding mass in a dark room. Something about his armor was very familiar to Eygon, but he couldn't quite place it.

Crossing his arms, the knight of Carim asked, “So what's _your_ deal, sulking about this place, hmm? Are you one of those Unkindled, that failed so badly at their duty as an Undead, they rose as ash?”

Smacking his lips, the stranger opened his mouth to respond, only to be stopped when the knight piped in as he began to recall where he had seen the armor.

“Oh, you're from the Undead Legion of Farron, aren't you? Didn't you all burn as kindle for the First Flame? Why aren't you with the Abyss Watchers?”

When the knight said that, the right eye and the lips of the man twitched in guilty acknowledgment. His eyes glinted in the dim light with despondency, and his hands balled up into fists.

Eygon smirked under his helmet, and his gravelly voice rolled with laughter. “Heh. I see. So you're a deserter. A coward. In which case, you are right to be ashamed, as you ought to be,” he mocked with a sneer and a snicker, still glancing down at the former Undead Legion member.

But what he hadn't expected was for the deserter to emit a single beat laugh and for a cynical grin to light up his expression and spit in a raspy voice, his cadence slow but deliberate, “Bold words, coming from one most holy _knight_ who gave up his charge, a defenseless blind maiden no less, to a random Unkindled.”

Eygon actually sputtered at the other man's reply, feeling his cheeks heat up in both anger at the implication of the sentence, as well as how  _aroused_ at how startlingly blunt it was. How did he even know…? Well, it would make sense for him to be aware if he spoke to Irina...

Either way, his armor began to feel very tight around his groin. Images of the deserter, naked, stripping him, bending him over, and stuffing his prick inside him flooded his mind, and it made the throbbing in his loins so acute he needed to just escape the situation.

Maybe he should have been more ashamed for being attracted to a stigmatized Unkindled, but it was what it was.

“I don't even know how you got that knowledge,” the knight of Carim snarled, turning around and stomping off, finishing his spiel over his shoulder, “But I'm not done with you, though.” The last thing he heard as he headed off to see what other degenerates Firelink Shrine contained, was the peal of a sardonic, raucous laugh from the man.

Of course, after such commentary on his duty to Irina, Eygon checked up on her, made sure the Ashen One was keeping his end of the bargain. Satisfied by what she told him, he went on to make inquiries of the other residents of Firelink Shrine to get a sense of what they were like. By which, of course, meant sussing them out via sarcastic remarks and biting questions.

And each one of them was stranger, and sorrier than the last. Either they were old, or profligate. Completely unsurprising, as far as he was concerned. Such were the Undead, and their weaker variants, the Unkindled; something about their curse made them morally weak.

About the time he went back into the main room, the main  _pit_ with the large thrones and several set of stairs, in order to approach the deserter again, this time to see if the knight could convince him to take a stroll out to the Undead Settlement so perhaps the two of them could get to know each other better.

He was surprised to see the Ashen One, in full knight armor, chatting with the son of a bitch. Mumbling under his breath, Eygon took his previous place, watching the two of them talk and noting how the mystery man occasionally glanced at him with a frown and a raised eyebrow. This went on so frequently that at some point, the Unkindled knight turned to see what the man kept making faces at.

They ended their conversation, but not before the man in the chainmail helm and Undead Legion armor handed the Ashen One something small. After, the Unkindled knight began to trot over in Eygon's direction.

“Ah, I know you. Been some time. I dropped in to see how she's getting on,” the knight of Carim spoke as the Unkindled marched up to him in hearing range, leaning against the throne and folding his arms, “Now, what are you playing at with this circus? This cesspool of doddering oldfolk and degenerates. Couldn't be better. She must fit in perfectly.” Finished with what he needed to say, an ironic chuckle slipped from his lips.

Angling his visor, the Unkindled just shrugged, not even bothering to engage the knight of Carim. Apparently satisfied with this, he strode over to the bonfire, and disappeared in a wisp of embers and smoke.

How  _rude_ .

Now, the Unkindled knight left him in an awkward place. Though normally he'd be brave, going up to an Undead, or Unkindled or whatever, to proposition them for sex was much different; not only were they condemned, but their stigma rubbed on to those that would ally themselves with them. And well… that extended to sex. Probably even more so. It would be a private shame, one he would keep to himself, one he would keep from Irina, as already broken as she was.

Eygon didn't want her to know how…  _weak_ he was to his own worldly desires,  his attraction to someone marked by the Undead curse .

Right when he finally gathered the stones to parade on over to the brooding Unkindled, the man stood up and donned his greatsword and dagger with determination spreading across, changing his sorrowful countenance. He tread over to the bonfire, giving Eygon a queer look before holding his left hand, the hand holding his dagger, over the hilt of the coiled sword lodged deep within its depths.

Before he could warp out, the knight yelled brusquely, “I said, I wasn't finished with you yet! Don't leave!” The unnamed Unkindled pressed his lips together and glowered at him, daring him to say anything more.

“Go on, I'm all ears,” the man said flatly, creasing his brow. If his hands weren't occupied, he probably would have folded them against his chest.

Not quite hesitating, Eygon asked as if completely ignoring the way he had talked to this stranger earlier, “What's your name?”

The thoroughly bewildered on the Unkindled warrior's face was priceless: his mouth went slightly slack, his eyes blinked rapidly, and he wrinkled his brow even further. He even shook his head, if not believing what had just came out of the knight's mouth. Darting his eyes around the room, he swallowed, then replied, popping his syllables, “You may call me,” he arced an eyebrow, “Hawkwood.” After relaxing his tense posture somewhat, he then questioned, “May I have yours, if just to remember the man who attempted to insult me?”

“Eygon,” the burly knight responded, “Eygon of Carim and… look.” He was actually sweating under his armor now with how nervous he was. _Don't blow it now_ , he thought as he fidgeted his fingers, _you've already pissed the man off_. “I won't lie and say I didn't mean the things I said back there because I _did_ , but that's besides the point. I came to… ask you something... personal and potentially offensive, if you're sensitive to that.”

Given the circumstance, it was probably a bit much as he shuffled up to  _Hawkwood_ , gently took hold of the collar of his armor, and whispered in his ear, “Would you perhaps enjoy going to the Undead Settlement, heh, and well, ream me?” The Deserter looked into the eye holes of his gruesome helm and  _laughed_ hard, actually losing composure as he shook and almost dropping his weapons into the ash beneath their feet.

Eygon stared at the man, humiliated for a few seconds, before the warrior of Farron finally calmed down, wiped the tears from his eyes, and managed to squeak out, “Yes, I would 'perhaps enjoy' that.” Slapping the back of the knight, the warrior  _smiled_ wide, an alarmingly charming smile, his face reddened from his laughter.

“What's so funny then?” Eygon asked sincerely, his tone of voice coming out a bit gruffer than intended. 

Looking up at the taller man still gripping his leathers, the Deserter replied in a low, sultry voice, “You're not exactly subtle. You have all the subtly of a peacock. Even if I can't see your face, you were staring at me for a long time, even locked eyes with me, I should say, with body language that never suggested a threat. That doesn't leave a whole lot of possibility.” His eyes danced down, down, down, clearly looking over the man holding him captive and wondering what was under the armor.

After sheepishly grimacing under his helmet, Eygon gently let the Deserter go. Their armor made soft noises; Hawkwood's leather swished, and the mineral of the knight of Carim's armor grit against other pieces. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he added, “I'll meet you at the bonfire in the village, the one closet to the High Wall, not the one  _on_ the High Wall. From there, we can discuss the… nuances of what I have in mind.”

Nodding, the Deserter waved the hand holding the dagger before vanishing.

When he finally arrived, though the still was bright and shining in the sky, time had most certainly passed; he had walked most of the way there, hammer in tow. Hawkwood looked bored, leaning against one of the walls of the building in which the bonfire sat and staring out into the distance, one foot not even touching the ground. Both of his weapons were sheathed, though he wasn't quite fully relaxed. He didn't notice the knight make his entrance until Eygon tapped his shoulder repeatedly.

Almost jumping out of his skin at the contact, the Deserter commented after he had both of his boots on the ground, “Took you long enough. I was afraid you were getting cold feet.”

“An interesting choice of words, given the source,” the knight snorted, his fingers rhythmically dancing across the smooth, simple handle of his Morne's Great Hammer.

Instead of dignifying that with a response, the Unkindled inquired as he tucked his hands under his armpits, “So, about those details?” He turned on his heels to face the knight of Carim completely, giving him his rapt attention. Though most of his facial expression was dour, the Deserter's deep blue eyes glittered with mirth, obviously becoming less and less put off with Eygon's attitude.

“Yes, well,” he began with a noise that sounded like an odd, suffocated titter, “I like it, heh, rough. Don't go easy on me. I don't mind, err, expressions of affection. Biting, clawing, and smacking is fine, just… don't hit my face. That's off limits. So's my genitals, for that matter.” Eygon paused when he noticed the Unkindled swiping his tongue across his lips, appearing like it wasn't intentionally tempting, but it still made him bite his lip in order to hold back a whimper. If only he knew what effect it had…

Finally, he finished his train of thought, “Can we get a move on? I know of a decent enough place ahead. I'll lead the way.”

As he marched out of the house, the Deserter trailed behind slightly to unsheathe his weapons.

“A pity how concealing your armor is in comparison to mine. I imagine you'd look great out of it,” Hawkwood said behind him, his tone and intonation making it clear a ribald grin painted his face.

Eygon pulverized a set of Hollow peasants to bloody pulp with a great sweep of his hammer as the two men neared the open doorway of a delapidated large building up ahead before replying, “Don't get too hopeful now. We can't _all_ be handsome like _Hawkwood_ the Deserter.” 

The Unkindled waited to say anything more until they entered the dark interior and went about padding down the stairs, easily slaughtering the small, frail Thralls lurking inside. “Oh hoh, is that a sense of humor I'm detecting? In any case, your  _charming_ personality more than makes up for any of your perceived physical flaws, which I'm, ahh, sure are much smaller and much more insignificant than you think they are,” he cooed, catching up to the knight to pat him on the back.

“Yeah, well, you don't know what you're talking about,” Eygon mumbled under his breath as the bright light caused the pupils of his eyes to contract as the two of them walked out into the square. Both of them ignored the congregation of Hollows and an evangelist around a dead tree lit on fire and instead went around them to the right, following the path, but ignored the bridge to another segment of the Undead Settlement. Acting almost as a single entity, they slayed a trio of Hollow peasants, two wielding five-pronged pitchforks and one with a cleaver clearly not crafted to be a weapon. 

After fighting their way through yet another building, they finally came across what was clearly a small residential district, of course. Naturally, the both of them had to dispatch of an evangelist and a few Hollows first, but that was a cake walk.

Eygon strolled up to the house he hand in mind, and turned the doorknob. Though it absolutely would turn, the door itself refused to budge. As though it would somehow help the situation, he jangled it before pounding his elbow into the door above the handle, about to his shoulders. While it definitely made a knocking noise, it failed to gain them entrance.

With a loud sigh, the Deserter insisted, “Allow me. Move a little bit to the left. I have an idea.”

Eygon decided that instead of arguing and pointing out that he was clearly the stronger of the two, and could probably even lift the lithe warrior onto his shoulders, he decided he'd do as he was told, and moved out of the way. He watched, with crossed arms, Hawkwood back up as far as he could, hitting the wall of a building straight across, and lowered his right shoulder slightly as he sheathed his greatsword and ducked the arm in.

Quite obviously, the Deserter was going to try to bust his way through, injuries to himself be damned.

The knight of Carim rolled his eyes on the inside of his helmet as Hawkwood's plan to burst through the door by throwing his shoulder into it spectacularly failed as he hit the door with a thud. Again, the Deserter backed up, pursing his lips and flaring his nostrils in irritation, before launching himself left shoulder first at the door with similar results. The stuck, bloated wooden door shuddered, but failed to break, give in, or open. Eygon let the other man impotently repeat the action one more time before clearing his throat.

“By all means, continue to hurl yourself at the door until you injure yourself in a vain attempt to impress me,” he groused, grasping Hawkwood's right shoulder just slightly too tight, “Now, move aside so I can get this damned door open.”

Casting the knight a somewhat sullen glance, his eyes traveling from the hand at his shoulder to the strange helm, the former member of the Undead Legion slid past him, pivoting his body entire after giving the other man some room in order to watch. Unceremoniously, Eygon lifted his right knee, then gave the door a powerful kick near the handle. Though the wood around the lockset broke, as well as the jamp, it finally flung open and trembled as it hit a wall with a resounding clap, flooding the dark interior of the house with sunlight.

Turning his head as though the Deserter could see his thoroughly pleased look, he then gestured towards the door with his hand. “I _insist_ ,” he jibed, waiting for the Unkindled he not-so-furtively approached earlier to duck into the building. Quirking an eyebrow at the knight and giving him a wry smile, he strode into the abandoned house. Soon after, Eygon followed, leaving the door open.

The inside of the place was quite dusty; it covered everything in a thick blanket, and naturally, kicking the door open had disturbed it into the air. Unsurprisingly, all parts of the small house were connected, from the hearth across from them, to the dining area made up on a small table and a lone chair on their right, to the bed on the left beside a pretty rickety bookshelf with one of the empty shelves collapsed and laying diagonally on an only partly occupied one. On top of the table, there was a candelabra that Hawkwood took, after laying his Farron Greatsword and dagger against the wall, and placed on the shelf.

He didn't need any prompting to go about searching about for a flint and steel while Eygon, too, set his weapon against the wall, shut the door, and noisily dragged the table towards the door in order to keep it shut. The faint warm light of a candle lit the room delicately. It had the effect of making Hawkwood's sharp facial features look  oddly  softer, not that the other man minded them; though the lights hardly took away from it, it  _was_ , after all, one of the attractive things about the Deserter. 

The weight of his actions, his desires, catching up to him, made his helmet feel all the heavier as he wrenched it off. He set it gently on the table, crossed his arms, and stared at the former Undead Legion warrior with a look that could almost be mistaken for vulnerability. Twiddling his fingers up against his well-defined arms, he waited for some sort of acknowledgment, hell, some sort of  _reassurance_ . Rejection, at this point, seemed like a bit… harsh, after he had come all this way. Had more to lose than Hawkwood, after all.

“Well?” he grunted, his lips twisting into a scowl as he furrowed his brow. Hawkwood gave him a blank stare for a moment.

Worrying his lower lip, with a glint in his eyes Eygon couldn't discern at first, he replied, “I'm not having any regrets,  _if_ that's what you're worried about. Your face looks about what I expected from your voice. The way it sounds, I mean.”

Frowning and narrowing both of his eyes, the man from Carim drew his arms closer to his body. “What's that supposed to mean, hmm?” he asked with a bit of a growl. The man before him scratched at the nape of his neck, then gave him the smallest of smiles, like he was afraid that the act would shatter his face as though it were fractured glass. Inching forward, Hawkwood cocked his head and scratched at the stubble on his face as he studied Eygon, clearly debating on how to respond.

“You're menacing, if I'm being honest, but that's part of your charm,” he said quietly before licking his dry lips, locking eyes with the bald-headed knight, “But, and I really do have to stress this point, you're a handsome man.” Chewing on the inside of his lip, the Deserter added whilst looking up at him through his eyelashes, “Someone I'd rather stay on the good side of… for more reasons than the immediately obvious.”

Eygon snorted with a roll of his eyes, though a slight dash of color had tinged his cheeks as he yanked off his gauntlets. “Is that the best you could come up with?” he retorted, relaxing his pose and letting his arms come undone. His hands twitched as the Deserter moved in closer, more than close enough to touch.

“ _Sure_. Now, are you going to let me take off that armor on your body, or are you going to pretend you didn't bloody ask me to pummel you into oblivion?” Hawkwood quipped, lewd amusement painting his face as he waited to get permission from the gruff Carim knight.

He even let out a short laugh when Eygon wrinkled his nose, all the while his face turning redder. Actually stammering for a second, he swallowed his aborted sentences, then finally managed to  grumble out, “Go ahead, but do be a  _dear_ and be quick about it before my nerves get the best of me.” 

Swiftly, Hawkwood's hands were upon him to undo the clips of his heavy black pauldrons that, when free, were carefully laid on the table behind them. Silently, he began to unbuckle the straps at his waist, wrenching free the chainmail, mineral, and cloth attached to the chest armor and, too, setting them on the table. Nimble fingers worked on the laces on the seams of the torso pieces underneath his arms til they pried them apart, and carried them with a bit of effort to the table.

“How do you manage, wearing such heavy armor?” the Deserter asked in sincere wonder, staring at the other man's bare, brawny, hairy chest for a moment before dropping to his knees to work on the buckles of the leggings. 

Eygon's breath actually snagged a moment. It took a moment for him to recollect himself, his anxiety about laying with the Unkindled doing nothing to curb the sudden stab of arousal that vindicated his decision to come to him in the first place. At that height and angle, it would be impossible to deny its effect on his body. The thought of the Deserter so close to his groin made him sigh softly and shut his eyes briefly before answering without a single hint of sarcasm, “I've been used to it for years. It's not uncomfortable, if you have the strength for it.”

Once the plates were off his legs, Hawkwood gazed straight up at Eygon with his eyes glinting and glazed over with lust, his lips parted. From the knight of Carim's thin lips fell forth a deep groan. Wordlessly, he lifted his right leg, allowing the Deserter to take off his boot, then repeated this with the left. After both of his boots were off, he wiggled his bare toes on the slightly cool wooden floorboards, eliciting a round of chuckles from the still kneeling man before him.

Eygon sighed as he glared down at the man with a creased brow, “Just take off the chainmail leggings already, damn you, instead of having a laugh for gods know what reason.”

With the slightest smirk, Hawkwood curled his fingers into the waist of both the knight's leggings and his small clothes, then slowly slid them down the man's muscular legs, inch by inch. When he got to Eygon's crotch, he was first greeted by the tops of curls of hair, then the man's half-hard member as he tugged the last bit of armor and the article of clothing down past his pelvis; the only bit of indication of his own interest was his rapid blinking at the knight's cock escaping its confines.

Once it was at his feet, the standing man stepped out of them, very much not accidentally brushing his thighs up against Hawkwood as he did so. His prick began to thicken and lengthen as the contact further aroused him until it reached full mast, both thicker and longer than average, though not horrifically on the latter point.

The other man stood, occasionally drawing his eyes down to Eygon's burgeoning erection, and questioned with a single arched eyebrow, “Care to reciprocate like the chivalrous knight you're, ahh, supposed to be?”

Pulling the Deserter forward by the o-ring on the harness that kept his iron pauldron on, Eygon snarled down at the man, his own lips precariously close to the other man's, “I thought you'd never ask.” One hand began to work on the clip holding the cape on, while the other unclasped a strap from the ring. Once that was done, he practically tore off the chainmail helm, throwing it onto the table with clinging of the individual loops. There was barely a scant inch between the two as he worked to get the Unkindled out of his leather armor. Against his taut, unclothed stomach, he could feel the other man's garbed erection stabbing into him.

If Eygon wasn't impatient before, it sure did light a fire under his ass, knowing just how into it the other man was.

In his eagerness, he almost considered just tearing off the armor, but in the end, he just ended up unlacing the vest and setting the gear that was once on Hawkwood's torso off on the table. He bit hard into his lower lip as he went down on his knees to help with the iron knee caps and the boots. Contrasting to the Deserter's methods, the knight of Carim all but ripped off his trousers tugging them down to the ground as quickly as he could. As he did this, the former Undead Legion warrior took off his iron gauntlet, leather glove, and both of the leather wraps on his forearms.

At this point, all thoughts about the shame of laying with an Undead, an Unkindled at that, evaporated. All too easy to forget was the stigma attached to them when the former Undead Legion member's length was freed and _very hard_ in his face.

The other man broke the silence, and Eygon immediately looked up.

“I'm actually surprised you want _me_ to penetrate _you_ when you're… so well-equipped. I wouldn't say no,” Hawkwood admitted softly, placing a hand on  the knight's shoulder and trailing his thumb down his clavicle. 

“That's just it,” he scoffed with a nose crinkled in indignation, “Assumptions make an ass out of you and m… actually, it just makes _you_ the ass. My body and my… ahem, goods may be larger than yours, but I'd much rather be buggered _by_ you than _do_ the buggering.” The knight got onto his feet, then crushed his lips against the Deserter's with no warning.

The Unkindled moaned against his mouth, snaking his hands around the man's waist to grab hard at his thewy buttocks. Tips of his fingers and his fingernails digging marks into Eygon's flesh, Hawkwood sucked the man's lower lip in his mouth and clamped down. Growling into the kiss, the knight clutched harshly at other man's unshaven face with both of his hands and rutted up against his naked body. The sensation of the Deserter's stubble rubbing against his face as they kissed thrilled him. A tongue slipped into his mouth, as if to ease the red indentation marks left on his bottom lip.

Hawkwood's mouth tasted curious, not bad at all, almost a bit sweet and faintly spicy. He had no idea if it was from the estus that all manner of Undead imbibed, given he had no reason to partake.

Finally, they pulled apart after several minutes of exploring the mouth of the other. Nibbling and sucking a few dark marks into the neck of the broader and taller man, the Deserter reached down and began to quite delicately stroke the leaking, hooded length of Eygon with his calloused right hand.

“Mm, want me to prepare you?” the raspy voice of Hawkwood purred as a wanton, enthusiastic grin split his mouth as he used his palm to caress the silky underside of the other man's hard-on.

Eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, his mouth hanging slightly open, the knight breathily answered, “Finally, you get the hint.”

Leaning over, the Unkindled rummaged through his belongings, before producing a small vial of liquid. Eygon, meanwhile, opened a single eye, and craned his head to see what the man was doing. With a nod and a grunt, he watched Hawkwood fall to his knees before him who gazed up into his eyes as he lathered at the knight's sac with his tongue, all the while opening the vial. After slicking fingers of his left hand, the Deserter gave the other man's cock a quick stroke before greedily sliding his lips down the length to the hilt with remarkable ease.

A single finger gently prodded the knight's entrance, causing him to gasp and jerk his hips into the hot mouth enveloping his thick member. One of Eygon's hands dropped to brush through Hawkwood's thick, short jet black hair before raking his fingernails across the man's scalp. Spending a bit of time just content teasing the orifice, the very tip of the digit finally made its way into the knight. Then, after some careful wiggling, it pushed on til it was knuckle deep.

“Can't say I'm surprised at how _easy_ that is for you. Was this a common enough occurrence in the Legion?” Eygon thrummed huskily, looking down at the man fervently licking and sucking his cock as though in hunger or worship or both. 

Wriggling the finger until he found the knight's prostate, the Deserter plopped the member in his mouth out to respond, in the mean time using his right hand to pump his fist down the length, “Clearly. But the question is, where did you get  _your_ knowledge and experience, sir knight of Carim?” A wolfish, toothy grin swept across the former Undead Legion member's face as he tilted his head up to look Eygon square in the eye.

“From getting irritating men such as yourself on their knees,” he replied, actually managing to grab the man's hair. When another finger glided in, slowly sinking down to the last knuckle, he gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes and surrendering to the blissful sensation. And once he felt those skillful lips wrap around his prick again, he exhaled loudly. It was simply egregious that the Deserter should be so damned _good_ at this; the salacious rumors about the Undead Legion were all true, every last one of them.

When the broad knight's thighs and calves began tensing, the Unkindled took it as a sign to both concentrate on merely lapping at the tip with a finger and thumb circled around the base and to glide in another digit. Pausing for a moment, the man eyed Eygon with an askew grin and remarked, “Your cock in my mouth aside, you're awfully receptive. You must  _really_ want me in there.  _Aching_ for it.”

Instead of formally responding to the remark, the knight grunted, opening his eyes to look down at that damnable, good-looking (if obnoxiously glum) bastard. Tilting his head, he stood there, content to just sit an observe the way Hawkwood's prick twitched, standing up quite proud and damp at the partly exposed head. His eyes roved across the man's lean form, taking note of the fuzziness of his torso and his inner thighs.

The spark of desire just the simple act of devouring him with his gaze produced curled Eygon's toes and had him feeling incredibly keen to have the Deserter seat himself deep inside him.

“Get onto your side on the bed and _don't_ forget the oil. I want you _**now**_ ,” the knight barked, his hand balling Hawkwood's hair in his fist again and angling his head backwards. He curled his lips as he stared down at the man before him with aggressive want. Releasing his grip on the Unkindled's hair, he watch the man stand, grab the vial of oil, and fling himself at the bed, hitting it with a creaky thud. After making room for the knight, he thoroughly slicked his cock and gave it a few tugs despite being rock hard.

Eygon stomped over there, much more gingerly lowering himself onto the cot, listening to it groan as he squirmed until his buttocks was touching the tip of the other man's rod. The Unkindled lifted one of his legs, likely in order to get better access his entrance. Without waiting, Eygon reached backwards for the Deserter's member and moved his arse until he sank all the way down on it.

With a throaty groan, the knight rolled his hips on the cock, not even allowing himself to adjust before he began to move back and forth and clenched his inner walls. Not that he would admit to it, but the Deserter's prick hit his sweet spot perfectly, as though made for the express purpose of fucking him.

“Why am I not surprised you're not the type of man who will just sit and take it? Of course, not that I'm complaining, good gods,” Hawkwood laughed as Eygon pushed himself off and onto his length, lifting the leg slightly closer to the other man's chest in order to get as deep as humanly possible.

Snorting, Eygon squawked as he went to grab at the Unkindled's tight, round arse in order to encourage him, “Are you going to fuck me or am I going to be doing all of the work?”

“I was giving you time to adjust, but if you insist...” the Deserter said before he withdrew slightly, then drove his member deep and powerfully into the other man, watching Eygon's face contort in rapture. The knight wantonly growled as the Unkindled continued to thrust ruthlessly into him, far less fast than it was hard. Each time their toned bodies met, it made a strident smacking noise, as well as jiggled the buttocks of the so-called receptive partner.

Though the man's fingernails clawed at his rear and left red marks, the warrior absolutely did not mind as he pounded into the knight, and even returned the favor by nipping at the nape of his neck. “There you go, I knew you had it in you,” the man from Carim moaned, “Just like that.”

The man behind him chuckled against his neck as he pulled all the way out of Eygon just to slam it back it with a slap as their bodies collided with synchronized movement. “ _Yes_ ,” the man exclaimed, grinding his rear against Hawkwood and throwing his head back. Despite the shame other men would have over being so vocal over a no-strings attached arrangement, the knight never held back, and wouldn't hold back now, not with how the sex made him feel so  _alive_ .

Though the hand holding his leg up left him, Eygon kept it there out of his own volition; even if he cramped, it felt too damn wonderful to be taken in that position. Then, the hand gave the buttock of his raised leg a hard slap. Instead of yelping, the knight let a long groan flop out of his lips, at which Hawkwood heartily laughed before snaking the arm around the man's broad chest.

“Normally I'd apologize but, I don't think that's necessary in this case,” the Deserter whispered in his ear with a sinful grin as his hand dipped between Eygon's legs and fondled his testicles. He then used his other hand to turn the knight's head and catch him in a consuming kiss, nibbling at his lips, moving his mouth against his, tangling their tongues. 

When the bucking against him had increased in tempo, and when the lips against his stopped to moan, Hawkwood slowed down and thrust into him shallowly. The knight shot him a glare before the Unkindled explained, breaking from their kiss, “Surely you want this to last? I have to say, your body is marvelous, and the way you writhe against me is like nothing else.” He then pressed his lips against Eygon's again, noting the man's soft, content sigh before he returned the kiss.

After stilling for just a moment they pulled apart, panting almost in unison. They gazed at each other lustfully, noting how they were both flushed and beginning to glisten with sweat, then the knight returned his head to a more comfortable position at the front of his body. Breath still labored, Eygon dropped his head against his chest and puffed, “You're not half bad, yourself,  _Hawkwood_ .” 

Tenderly caressing the stronger man's shoulder, the Deserter began to thrust again into the knight's tight orifice. No words or gestures were needed for the other man to return to gyrating his hips. Nails scraped down down Eygon's back, not breaking the skin but still stinging and leaving white lines. Receiving the pain made the knight cry out, arch his back, and meet the Unkindled rocking into him more vigorously.

Yet again, sounds of the two bodies crashing into each other filled the room, as did their sounds of rapture and heavy breathing. Their reddened bodies shimmered like molten metal.

One of the Carim knight's hands wound behind and took hold on the other man's hair in a painful grasp. He could feel his orgasm crawl near, and as such, he wanted the Deserter to hammer him into the bed like he was a nail. “Give it to me the hardest you possibly can,” he demanded, looking over his shoulder with a fire in his eyes at the face of the Unkindled whose hair he was pulling. Quirking his angular face into a broad, delighted grin, Hawkwood grabbed at Eygon's pelvis with both hands and virtually shoved into him with a whack against the curvature of his ass.

Closing his eyes and grunting, the knight's hand freed the other man's hair in order to creep downwards and take himself in hand as he met the warrior's near-violent, almost too hard thrusting. Right after, the Deserter slapped his hand away, causing Eygon to open his eyes, and crooned, “Allow me.” Subsequently, the knight moved his hand away with a grumble, and allowed the former member of the Undead Legion to stroke his cock in sync with their sex. Lips, teeth, and tongue dragged across the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders.

Within moments, Eygon's head fell backwards against the man behind him, his ability to reciprocate with movements of his hips and buttocks occasionally faltering as his climax drew closer and closer. “I didn't expect a deserter to be as aggressive and,” he swallowed thickly when the Unkindled's prick struck his prostrate with a particularly forceful jab, “Relentless as the army he left,” he rasped with half-lidded eyes, the arm facing up towards the ceiling clutching for the man's back.

“I didn't expect a dutiful knight of Carim, especially one with _so_ much faith and devotion to both the gods and his charge, to want an _Undead_ _deserter's_ Farron Great _sword_ ,” laughed Hawkwood against the side of Eygon's face, moving his left leg until it was slotted up against the other man's leg that was still folded up to his chest. It almost bent the knight flat onto his chest, if it weren't for the fact moving his hand up and down the receptive partner's weeping prick prevented that.

The man from Carim didn't even verbally acknowledge the retort; instead, he just squeezed his pelvic muscles around the Unkindled's cock as he tilted his rear to meet the other man's hips and smirked at the resulting strangled yowl.

One more nearly puncturing jab of the Deserter's prick into the knight, and Eygon roared as he came in several long spurts all over the other man's hand and onto the bedding. Meanwhile, the former member of the Legion mewled as the knight's muscles contracted around his member. The thrusts continued until his orgasm came to a trickle, leaving him panting and giddy. Most of his body felt tingly, even his damn  _teeth_ , from it.

Behind him, Hawkwood gasped for breath, and pulled back his hand from the knight's still somewhat hard member and noisily licked and sucked the spend his hand.

_Why did he stop?_

“I didn't say stop, you goddamn _bastard_ ,” he shouted hoarsely, jerking his hips back onto the hard-on of the Unkindled, even stretching a hand around to slap his buttocks.

Struggling not to chortle, the Deserter replied, planting a kiss his broad shoulders, “My deepest, sincerest apologies for thinking you'd be too sensitive to continue.” Then, he began to pummel into the knight just as he did before: slow, but incredibly hard. The vocalizations of Eygon went from being deep and throaty to more high pitched and breathy. Hands, one still damp with spit, clenched into his pelvis in a death grip, burrowing marks that would bruise.

Eventually, the Unkindled just shoved him onto his stomach, angling his hips upwards slightly, and quickened the pace, his body clinging to Eygon's. The knight whined, feeling another release close in with the savage way the man was taking him. Despite the fact he had yet to fully catch his breath, he still attempted to grind back into each of the thrusts. His hands clung and tore at the sullied sheets as he sought to anchor himself against the onslaught.

“I can already feel you tensing around me again,” Hawkwood grinned wickedly, whispering in Eygon's ears before biting the lobe and the side of the other man's face. A hand slid up from the knight's hips and clutched at his pectoral muscles, every now and then toying with his nipples. When the man beneath him whimpered, almost inaudibly, he smirked and hummed proudly.

Moments later, after writhing against the man above, and the knight spurted onto the bed again with a groan, sliding a hand back to bite at a closed fist hard. For a moment, he ceased to bounce against the other man's cock, body too shocked with pleasure until he briefly rested. He felt the Deserter rest his forehead against the back of his sweat-glossed neck and the hot puffs of his breath against his back. “I don't think I've given you enough credit for being  _fantastic_ ,” the former Undead Legion member said while biting and mouthing across the other man's shoulder blades.

The knight moaned, low, loud, and long at the shameless remark. He really was beginning to believe their bodies were made for each other, given he felt another climax tug at his loins as the other man's prick almost constantly stimulated his almost painfully sensitive sweet spot. Though he'd be quite spent, in more ways than one, he definitely wouldn't be able to complain. 

The Unkindled drove himself all the way to the hilt as quickly as his hips could manage for a couple minutes before he finally growled with stuttering breath, “Do you want me to pull out?” His panting came out heavy against the knight's shoulders.

“Why yes, of course I want you to pull out when I'm on the brink again,” Eygon rolled his eyes with an annoyed grunt, then added after a considerable pause filled by his tortured moans of ecstasy, “No, stay inside of me.”

Rumbling deeply from his chest, the Deserter breathed into his ear seductively, “Very well. I was hoping you'd say no, considering the moment you said you wanted to be taken by me, I thought about what it would be like to… spill deep inside of you.” The hand at the knight's chest rolled the man's nipples, kneading at and massaging his pecs before wandering back to his hips.

Hawkwood leaned back slightly on the heels he dug into the bed, dug his nails into Eygon and jerked him into each powerful, relentless thrust. His eyes clamped close, and he gnashed his teeth as his body began to grow taut. Finally, moments of plunging into the knight later, his eyes flying open, he came inside the other man with a strident cry, desperately clutching to him. And not a second later, Eygon's final climax followed, though not as productive as the rest, left him feeling the most drained, and the most satisfied.

They laid on the bed like that, catching their breath and collecting themselves, Eygon trapped under Hawkwood's crumpled form. For several moments, neither of them said a word, nor moved.

The silence and stillness was broken by the Deserter moving off of the knight and laying down beside him on his stomach, eye to eye. With a satisfied smile, he said, “I don't think I've been this breathless and exhausted in  _years_ .” Leaning over, he gave Eygon's chin a sharp bite, grinning at the knight's slight grimace.

“I can most assuredly tell,” the knight replied dryly, the tiniest of gratified grins threatening to quirk his lips, with his voice hoarse and betraying just how depleted he felt. He reached over and gave the Unkindled's damp hair a ruffle. 

Flashing the knight a lopsided grin, Hawkwood grabbed his face and gave him a kiss that was half biting, half tongue. Eygon turned to the side to better accommodate it, and settled his hands at the other man's buttocks.

Because laying in a damp spot of his own fluids was beginning to lose its charm, the knight groused after they broke apart, “Can we at least sit up? Laying in my own seed is as disgusting as it is uncomfortable.”

Briskly nodding with a tired look in his eyes, Hawkwood sat up on his haunches, then stood up on the floor to find something to get the sticky wetness of their spend off the both of them. He returned after finding a few handkerchiefs, handing Eygon some before wiping off his own soft cock.

Once he stood and cleaned himself off the best to his ability, the knight then asked, “How about we make this a common occurrence? Come back to the same place, maybe in a few days.”

How quickly the Deserter answered was almost  concerning . “Of course,” he responded, chuckling darkly in his throat, “But  _only_ if I can look right at your face when you cry out next time.” He drew out the words as he looked into Eygon's eyes with affection. Perhaps not of the sappy or romantic kind,  not even necessarily love, but definitely affection.

“I can agree to that. Now, let's get our armor on and go about our merry way, because I'm too tired for your round two.”


End file.
